


volver

by spiraweb



Category: SGUIDE
Genre: Brief character death, M/M, Vampires, literally one line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiraweb/pseuds/spiraweb
Summary: Hale is sixteen when he falls in love.He’s twenty-two when he finds it again.
Relationships: Hale Ogygia/Finn Ladom
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	volver

Hale is sixteen when he falls in love. 

He’s fresh out of school, having dropped out to do some bullshit mechanical apprenticeship he definitely doesn’t qualify for, and fresh out of faith in the human race. When he meets Finn Ladom, the feeling is akin to that of getting a bucket of ice water thrown over his head. 

They meet on a Sunday. Hale will never forget that, because he’s not meant to be working on Sundays, but he’s at the shop anyway and he’s doing stupid shit to cars that isn’t really fixing them at all, and then Finn fucking Ladom turns up and, with his and his dog’s puppy eyes, practically begs him to help fix his motorcycle.   
_What the fuck_ , Hale says.   
_Please, please please can you fix this motorbike it’s really important_ \- Finn half-replies, before he is interrupted.   
_Bullshit. Did you steal this motorbike?_ Asks the interrupter.  
 _What! No- well, okay- it’s not mine, it’s my friend’s, please, she can’t know I broke it- look, don’t make Cinnabar sad, look at her-_  
And that’s how that begins. A Sunday afternoon in the middle of summer: Hale sweaty and covered in WD-40 with his hair slicked back from the heat; Finn smiling brighter than the mid-August sun as he rolls up his sleeves like he’s going to help, his dog yapping at his side.

Finn forces himself into Hale’s life elbows first, seemingly having decided he’s ‘committed to making him lighten up’. He appears at the garage holding ice cream, somehow having convinced Hale’s coworkers to find out his favourite flavour. He makes Hale ride the motorbike with him, claiming it’s much less prone to damage if Hale’s at the front. He introduces Cinnabar to him properly, and she gets her fair share of licks in between Hale’s shifts. They go from seeing each other once a week to every other day; Hale ends up at Finn’s house at least twenty times in September, drowning his mechanics woes in weird retro movies Finn just happens to own. Over half of these times he ends up asleep on Finn’s lap. He’s not stupid. He recognises the warm feeling in his chest every time their arms brush together. As the warmth of summer fades, his cynicism slowly melts into a kind of familiar ache, usually leaving him be except in times of darkness or anger. And Finn’s remarkably good at those feelings too. He fumbles, he stutters and he certainly fucks up at times, being one of the more oblivious people Hale knows, but there’s nothing his hugs can’t fix. By the time Hale’s birthday comes around, he’s undeniably in love. He doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t exactly trust the feeling, but he can’t argue it. And he doesn’t think he’s doing a bad job at it either. Finn still smiles like Hale hung the fucking stars in the sky or something, so he thinks it’s a win. 

Hale’s 17th birthday is probably the best day of his life. His friends, no longer just coworkers, throw him a party, one complete with party hats and drinks that shouldn’t be consumed by 17-year-olds, and a massive fucking s’mores cake that manages to be eaten in about two seconds flat. And at the end of the night, when everyone else has gone home and the stars are out and the wintry air is nipping at Hale’s ears, Finn leads him into his garden, sits him down on a bench, and kisses him. It’s the sweetest moment he’s ever had and he can’t help but smile against Finn’s lips, leaning into him like it’ll kill him not to. When they pull apart Finn pouts and says, _That’s not fair. I didn’t get to see you smile. You don’t do it enough_.   
And Hale, drunk and rosy-cheeked and in love, murmurs: _Then I’ll fucking do it again_. 

And then. And then, and then.  
And then Hale dies. 

It’s a ruinous affair. First of all, he’s humiliated that he let a car of all things turn him over from the land of the living. Second of all, Finn doesn’t show up to the funeral. Seeing as it’s closed-casket, neither does Hale. 

The thing is, Hale isn’t really dead. Perhaps on the inside, but he guesses he got lucky or something, because Pythia Herrne, a woman with peculiar aspirations, just happens to pass by him as he dies. And her and her pseudo-moirail Rigel Marburg just happen to be vampires. So Hale, bleeding out in the middle of nowhere, has Rigel’s fangs plunged into his neck, and then he falls asleep for the next two weeks or so. When he wakes up, he’s got a megawatt craving for blood and such a coldness to his limbs that he passes back out again. Vampire life. Go figure.

They initiate him into their coven, and he spends a few months being fawned over by incredibly affluent and kind of insane vampires and their associates, including their children, who happen to have been turned at a similar sort of age to Hale. They throw him a welcome party; he spends the whole evening in the training room duelling a girl called Maia so he doesn’t have to be miserable. They throw a New Year’s Party; he spends the whole night on the rooftop, angsting away to his new basically-sibling Navy. They don’t have many comforting words, but they do know how to do cool stuff with the party lights, so it’s a pretty good evening all in all. 

He doesn’t breathe a word about his past life to any of them though, and they eventually learn to let it go. He only sees Finn in his dreams now.

Five years down the line, and Hale is celebrating his 22nd birthday with a far too grandiose party, at a far too grandiose venue, with far too much grandeur. Naturally, Pythia is hosting, seeing as her penchant for throwing parties only seems to grow with every passing year, and also because she’s technically the only person who has Rigel’s permission to host at his house. 

It really is glamorous; Pythia’s gathered the remains of the Halloween decorations from a few days ago and strewn them about the ballroom decoratively, and Candra’s really put in work with the lighting. Lirium’s even gone and baked a really beautiful cake for him, the kind that rivals every cake he could’ve possibly imagined wanting. Lace banners hang from every warm-toned chandelier, extravagant cobwebs litter every mantelpiece alongside blood red candles, and every table or two there’s a little teal table piece to establish that this party is really all about Hale. Someone’s managed to convince Rigel to set up an extravagant champagne fountain by his extravagant fireplace, which is really a feat of not-so-human nature. All in all, it’s not the most lavish party he’s been to, but it’s a pretty grand party nonetheless. And it’s not like Hale needed some big fuck off party in the first place.

But Pythia’s parties are popular, undeniably so, and Hale’s not one to ruin people’s fun. So the ballroom is packed, various assorted guests dancing in styles from the waltz to practically dry humping, which. Hale may be twenty-two now, but he was not made for such incredible amalgamations of tradition and…modern…culture in one place, so he simply averts his view. He watches instead, from the safety of the Punch Table, the maids and butlers flitting between the dancers like extremely coordinated dragonflies, balancing trays of champagne flutes and blood in martini glasses respectively. The Punch Table is nice. It’s far away from the action, where Hale doesn’t have to pretend he knows how to socialise with people of ages varying between 20 and 2000, and it carries actual, real punch this time. Last time he had complained Pythia’s ear off about how the integrity of punch cannot be destroyed just to give the coven an opportunity to drink more blood. She opposed it, _because Halloween isn’t spooky enough with punch, Hale, I’m sorry,_ but she’s nice enough to listen this time. Hale doesn’t even like punch, but its normality soothes him. 5 years of this stuff is nothing compared to the people here who’ve been alive longer than like, most of his family bloodline. He mourns for a second about how hard it is to get drunk now he’s a vampire, and how badly it’s gonna hurt him to be sober tonight, and pours the stupid punch in his half-full champagne glass.   
Across the room, he locks eyes with Finley Lygari. Oh gods. Bottoms up. 

Naturally, because Hale can’t catch a break, Finley takes less than should be physiologically possible to make their way to Hale’s previously safe spot at the Punch Table. Their braid swishes behind them, glinting in the light from the 24-carat diamonds they got Svalin to braid in (being the only member of their inner circle who is willing to waste incredibly valuable items on Finley’s extortionate hairstyles). 

Finley grins like a cheshire cat, raising his glass which is notably full of whiskey. Where the fuck did that come from. “Happy birthday, Hale!” he yells as he approaches. “You look like you’re having a great time!”   
Hale scowls. “Fuck off.”   
The Elder frowns, taking a sip. “C’mon, Pythia pulled out all the stops for tonight. Tell me you’re not gonna sulk here all night.”  
“I don’t even know what sulking means,” he retorts, “Except that it is something I am definitely not doing .”  
Finley hums dismissively. “Right.” They gesture haphazardly around you. “What are you doing, then?”  
“Admiring the punch.”   
“Ad—“, and Finley must be drunk, because she bursts out laughing with no inhibitions, which is not something Hale thinks he’s ever seen before. Weird. “It does match your hair,” they point out. Hale looks down. Sure enough, the liquid in his cup is a bright teal, the same colour that Finley dyed his hair when he was turned. It wasn’t a great first impression, but the hair stuck. Candra always says it’s pretty.

At Hale’s lack of response, Finley reaches upon behind her and pulls a few diamonds free from her hair. “Turn around,” she orders, taking Hale by the shoulder. He flinches instinctively, scowling and squaring his shoulders. “What the fuck are you doing,” he deadpans.  
“Be quiet.” 

They turn him around surprisingly gently, loosening his hair from where it’s been carelessly tied back with a purple ribbon. He feels it fall against his suit jacket where it’s grown down to just below his shoulders. He’ll never admit it to the others, but he can’t really bring himself to cut it. Washing it is a pain and he doesn’t exactly enjoy looking more similar to Finley, but it’s the one thing he’s been able to keep from the past. 

Their fingers deftly work the diamonds into his hair, pulling strands of it apart and together again, until it forms a neat enough braid resting at the top of his spine. Finley steps back to admire his work. Hale does look lovely; his hair now shimmers under the shine of the chandeliers, the jewels catching the light at intervals. Pythia gifted him a deep amethyst suit for today, and it fits him like a glove, outlining the curve of his muscles and emphasising his height with the coattails. He’s left the black viscose shirt unbuttoned down to his collarbones, exposing the slight flush to his skin he’s managed to earn through a few drinks this evening. Finley thinks he really looks older tonight, a lot different to the bewildered seventeen year old he’d met in Rigel’s private quarters five years ago. 

“There,” he proclaims, clapping his hands together. “Now you look less like a drowned rat.”   
Hale glowers, but resigns himself to his fate. “Whatever. Are you leaving now? Tell me you’re leaving.”  
Finley concedes for once, nodding. “I have to check when Parker’s gonna turn up.” He places his hands on his hips, looks between Hale and the Punch Table, and grimaces slightly. “Don’t drink all of that. I’m begging you.”   
“I’m not stupid.”  
Incredulous, Finley backs away, laughing. “Sure you’re not.” Hale doesn’t have the strength to follow that up. Still definitely not sulking, he turns back to the table and spitefully fills up his whole glass. He’s sure he knows the name Parker from somewhere- but Pythia’s introduced him to so many people in the last few years that it barely crosses his mind. There are more significant issues on his mind.

Obviously this corner is not as safe as he thought, and he doesn’t think he can keep out of Candra’s eye for much longer. She’s been preoccupied with Sebastian for most of the night so far, but he knows she’ll hound him for the rest of it if she even so much as catches a glint of him standing by himself. Well. She can’t see him alone if she can’t see him at all. Warily, he looks around the hall, picks up about three different kinds of champagne flute, and escapes out the entrance to the garden. 

Outside, the atmosphere is both literally and figuratively a breath of fresh air. Someone’s hung up fairy lights round the garden; they’re sprawled everywhere from the rose bushes to the orange trees like small stars adorning the greenery. Rigel’s water fountain is pattering soothingly in the centre, one of his cats lounging precariously close to where it can fall in. Best of all, the air is crisp and light; just cold enough to cool him down without making him shiver. He breathes in deep and takes a seat by the fountain. Mewling, the black cat plops herself next to him, reaching a paw out. He stares at her a little bewildered as she inclines her head. Hale can’t help but be reminded of the first time he’d petted Cinnabar.

 _She’s not going to bite you_ , Finn had tried to reassure him, from the couch in the garage break room. _She’s the sweetest girl in the world! Isn’t that right, isn’t that-_  
 _Finn_. Hale had stressed. _This is a predator. She’s going to bite my hand off the first chance she gets._  
Cinnabar had taken this exact moment to edge closer to him, tilting her head and enabling the infamous puppy eyes mode. She’d stayed there and inched closer and closer until her snout was right under Hale’s hand, and he had to pet her.   
Her fur was impeccably soft under his fingers, and the way her tail wagged when he scratched her ears was actually precious. _See_ , Finn had declared very smugly. _She likes you._  
 _Shut up_ , he’d retorted, but he never hesitated to pet her after that.

So naturally, he gives in, delicately stroking the cat. Her fur is smooth and velvety to the touch, and she’s quick to purr. The feeling manages to freak him out for a second, but he recovers, feeling much less lonely and much more tranquil as she clambers into his lap. He shuts his eyes, inhales, and lets the cold air surround him like a blanket. It’s not everyday he gets to just pretend he doesn’t exist. It’s nice. 

He can still vaguely hear the sounds of the party inside; whoever’s in charge of the music is now streaming Maneater by Nelly Furtado, and Hale can practically feel Rigel’s stress levels from here. There are still guests appearing every once in a while, being mostly greeted by Finley, who has apparently assumed the personality of an overexcited puppy for tonight. Hale can’t wait to see her freak out over it tomorrow morning. 

“Welcome!” he hears from inside, like a tinny voice from an old radio. It’s Pythia welcoming this time. “I haven’t seen you in so long, Parker! Is this Finn?”  
“That’s me! Nice to meet-“

Hale’s blood runs cold. He sits up, back ramrod straight, scaring the kitty straight off of him. She perches by the water, watching him tentatively. 

Holy shit. Hale can’t breathe. That’s Finn- Finn Ladom’s voice. It’s deeper, and it’s not as soft as he remembers, but it’s his. Finn Ladom is at his birthday party, five years after his death. 

He gets up and paces in every direction. He puts a hand in his hair. He undoes his hair, the diamonds tumbling out and hitting the floor like worthless pebbles. He sits down and gets back up again. Fuck.

This was never supposed to happen. Hale was meant to stay dead to everyone who used to know him. It was easier; it didn’t break any rules, it didn’t require any explanations, any accusations of lies, any assumptions, anything. Yeah, maybe it hurt, but it was so easy. So easy up until now. Fuck. Hale breathes out. 

This is fine, he tells himself. He won’t come out here. He won’t even see him. 

But fucking hell, Hale needs to see him.

Hands in his pockets in a vague show of nonchalance, he jogs over to the doorway, leaning against it. His hair, cooperative for once, just barely covers his face to others. His eyes search frantically through the crowd, before he sees him. 

Still by the doorway, he stands there with a smile on his face, draped in baby pink silk. His suit is stunning, tapering at the waist and glittering under the lights in a way that makes the absolute best out of his silhouette; he looks like he’s made of fresco, all delicate, deliberate lines. He’s tan and freckled in spite of the November weather, and his cheeks are as rosy as ever. His jaw is stronger and his shoulders are almost imperceptibly wider, but his eyes are the same innocent shade of blue; his smile is impossibly prettier than Hale remembers. His hair looks just as soft and inviting as it did years ago. Hale can still remember the feeling of his hands tangled in it.

He feels his face heat up, and wills the feeling away as much as he can. It’s not fair that Finn turns up here, looking like some divine angel, and Hale can’t even do anything about it. To make things worse, he’s pretty fucking sure that’s Silas next to him, all cute in an emerald green suit and what looks like heeled boots. Wow. He pulls those off really well.

Hale knows he should really be getting back outside, before anyone can pull him over and introduce him to Parker and subsequently Finn and Silas, but he needs to catch his breath. He hasn’t seen them in five fucking years after all, and it’s not like dying made him any less in love with Finn than he was. 

The first time he woke up properly as a vampire, he shut himself in the room Rigel had mercifully given him, and refused to come out for a week. He lay in bed like a corpse, which felt fitting, trying to erase the memory of Finn fucking Ladom. He thought about coming back and telling him the truth, but the idea was so terrifying he couldn’t do it. Hales not the type of person to give up on anything, but this was different. This wasn’t like: spend seventeen years making stuff you’re not that good at making. This was: tell all your friends you’re not dead, you’re actually a supernatural creature that shouldn’t exist, and then explain why you can’t be with your boyfriend anymore because you’re immortal and he’s not, and you don’t want him to offer himself up for immortality because that’s definitely something he’d do. 

“Hale?”   
Hale physically jumps. Maia is stood behind him, giving him an extremely questioning look.  
“Dude, what are you doing?” she asks, twirling her lightsaber like it’s a casual thing. Well, it is. He doesn’t really know how to reply. Okay. Things can’t get any worse. He doesn’t know an emotion called ‘shame’ anymore. He furrows his eyebrows.  
“See that guy over there,” he gestures vaguely with his hand. She squints into the distance, eyes widening with realisation.  
“Finn Ladom?” she asks, almost instantly. Hale’s mouth falls open.  
“Wh—I. I, um. What? You know him?”   
“Yeah!” she grins. “We’re old friends. I used to lend him out my motorbike a couple of years ago. Dunno how he managed to keep it running for so long.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Wait. Why?”  
Hale… Hale does not have many words left for this situation. “Oh, what the fuck,” he says, putting the bottoms of his palms in his eyes. “Can you just make sure he doesn’t see me.”  
Maia opens her mouth as if to say something, but Hale assumes his fiercest expression, forcing his eyes open. “Questions later.”  
She nods and salutes, striding through the crowd towards them. Hale is immensely grateful, taking this moment to escape the throng of people and make his way upstairs. Last year, he’d tried to do the same and ran into a very tousled looking Candra and Sebastian, who made him get back onto the dance floor and dance at least one waltz with everyone who wanted to dance with him. This year he guesses the universe has given him enough birthday surprises, because the staircase is free and his passage upstairs is quick and easy.

As soon as he hits the landing, he throws himself into his room and locks the door, stepping through the mess of appliances on the floor and through the door to the balcony, where he can overlook the garden in peace. The sky is a deep navy blue now, air getting mistier by the hour and cicadas chirping calmly. Maia’s lead Silas, Finn and Lirium from somewhere to the little fire pit near the back of the patio, where there are less flammable objects around. Silas procures marshmallows seemingly from nowhere, and Finn has come prepared with chocolate and crackers. Lirium laughs as Maia uses her lightsaber to light a fire, and makes some comment about how the s’mores cake her and Silas made a few years ago was the best thing she’s ever done in her life. Hale reels. That was his cake. He thinks he’s gonna implode if he finds out another one of his friends here knows his old friends. 

The gang in the garden look like they’re having a wonderful time, though, and soon enough, Hale finds himself falling asleep to the sounds of their laughter and the smell of toasted marshmallows, unable to watch from afar any longer. He dreams in 80s movies, scenes of his life played out to him in technicolour through the mirage of sleep. Finn is there, just by his side, but Hale wakes up before he can reach out. It’s the first time he’s dreamed of him in a year.

As he comes to, he realises the sky is still dark, but the sounds of the party have largely died out, with only the thrum of late night music remaining from downstairs. He checks the far too ornate watch on his wrist and finds the time to be just a little over 3am, definitely a late enough hour not to have to return to the party. He peels himself off his chair, grateful he didn’t fall over the railing or something, and slides open the door to his room haphazardly, sleepily taking off his suit jacket. 

It’s totally dark at first glance, which is to be expected. But Hale pauses and looks up properly as the scent of wildflowers and chocolate overwhelms him, filling him with sudden and sharp lust for blood. “What the f-,” he starts, and doesn’t get to finish, because Finn Ladom is sat on his bed with an oil lantern in hand, looking at Hale like he doesn’t know what to do with any part of his body. It doesn’t take him long to decide though, because before Hale can even get his thoughts together, Finn’s dropped the lantern and thrown himself at Hale so hard that the two of them fall to the floor.

Hale. Oh boy. Hale feels like he can’t breathe. Hale feels like there’s too much air in his lungs. He feels, he feels… he feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t hug Finn back. He stops thinking and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in his shoulder in an attempt not to shed tears. Hale Ogygia does not cry.   
“Hale, Hale, you- you- you fucking idiot, Hale, don’t ever do that to me again oh my god Hale, Hale, don’t scare me like that I thought you were dead Hale why didn’t you tell me,” Finn rambles and, never-mind, Hale Ogygia does cry. But just this once. 

He turns them round so he can see Finn’s face, and he freezes. He’s crying, like an idiot, looking up at Hale like he’s just seen God Herself, and Hale doesn’t know what the fuck to do. So two things happen in rapid succession.  
1: Hale says one thing: “Who the fuck let you up here.”  
2: Hale kisses him.  
He kisses him like he’s starved, and Finn takes less than a microsecond to react in tandem. It’s bruising, and it’s desperate, and when Hale regains control of his limbs he tangles his hands in Finn’s hair like he’s wanted to all night, and Finn holds him with one hand on his jaw, stabilising and secure. He feels his emotions crash over him with the force of a tsunami, and only his pride holds him back from sobbing into Finn’s mouth. When they pull apart for air, Hale has to take a moment, just to drink in the sight of Finn’s face so close to him; to reacquaint himself with every freckle, with the exact shade of blue that Finn’s eyes are, with the cut of his jaw and the angle of his nose, with his reddening lips, far too soft for his own good. Finn looks equally starstruck, and he moves one hand up to explore Hale’s hair, which is curling at the ends now, looking at it like he’s touching ichor. A stray diamond tumbles out of it almost miraculously, which finally, finally returns Finn’s blinding smile.   
“This is, uh, really pretty,” he says, and Hale flushes scarlet, his actions catching up to him. “I missed you so so much,” he adds.   
“Me too,” Hale manages, and then, “I’m sorry.”   
Finn looks so surprised Hale actually goes to hit him, but his elbow is caught and he loses balance, slumping against Finn’s chest. He doesn’t think he can take the embarrassment of getting back up, so he doesn’t, shoving his head into the crook of Finn’s shoulder. To Finn’s credit, he repositions the two of them so one of his hands is resting on the small of Hale’s back, the other running fingers through his hair. And Hale’s a considerable amount bigger than him. But Finn had never cared, and still doesn’t now, even if his shoulders are positively bracketed by Hale’s.  
“Okay I have to admit, I can take the apology this time. But we’re okay now, yeah? No more ‘sorries’.”

Hale pauses, and thinks for a second. And then it hits him. Fuck. Fuck. He’s fucked up so bad. They’re not okay. He was never supposed to even come near Finn, shit, who let him up and why, why, why did he carried away—

Abruptly, he pushes himself up off the floor and stands up. Finn can immediately feel the change in atmosphere; he can practically see the iron walls come up between him and Hale, like he’s backed into an impenetrable fortress. 

Hale bites his lip. His fangs draw blood. “We’re not okay,” he shakes his head. “You, um. Fuck. You need to leave.”   
Finn stares at him, lifting himself off the floor so he can look Hale in the eyes. “What?”   
“It—this, um,” he trails off, taking a deep breath. “You know this isn’t gonna work right?”  
Finn looks shellshocked; Hale can practically see the gears turning in his head. “No. What do you mean,” he asks, voice carefully flat.  
“Finn,” Hale stresses. “Look at me. I’m a vampire.”  
Finn shrugs. Jesus Christ. He was easier to argue with when they were seventeen. “So what?” he retorts, his concern only barely slipping through the cracks of his voice. “So is Maia. So is Lirium. That doesn’t change anything.”  
God. This is why Hale never wanted this conversation in the first place. “It changes everything, for fuck’s sake!” he exclaims. “Do you think it’s going to be easy? To live like this?”  
“It doesn’t have to be easy!” Finn retaliates. “You always say that it’s never been easy with us. But guess what! I don’t care, Hale, because I love you.”  
“You don’t get to say that right now,” Hale bites out. “You’re not the one that’s gonna have to, what, watch you grow old and frail and eventually fucking die, and, and have all your friends around you die and at the end of it have to—to fucking live for eternity and repeat this hell— for fucks sake— and to spend every waking moment mourning the people you’ve left behind. I don’t want that! I don’t wanna fucking mourn you, Finn!” He knows he’s yelling now, but he doesn’t care. His lips are sticky from the blood and his hands are clammy, and yet he presses on. “That’s why I didn’t— I couldn’t, come to see you! Because it was better for both of us if I were dead. And it’s still better now. You can go home; you have Silas, you have Cinnabar, you have Cavall, Levett. You can have a normal fucking life.”   
Finn turns downright tempestuous at this; his eyes are fiery and mouth downturned as he steps up to Hale and grabs him by the collar, forcing him to lean down. “Better if you were dead? How can you- how can you say that? Do you know how long it took me to get back to normal when I thought you were dead? Do you know I got another dog so Cinnabar would stop feeling lonely all the time? That everyone back home was devastated?” He exhales like it’s painful to do so, letting go of Hale slowly. “You know what, Hale. I’ll go if you ask me to. Tell me to leave, to never come back—“ he bites his lip forcefully, “and I won’t. I’ll listen to you,” he smiles, and even with its bitterness, it’s still a pretty smile.   
“Finn,” Hale warns, suddenly having no idea what to do with his hands.   
“If you tell me to stay, I’ll do it too. I want us to be happy. You can turn me, can’t you?” And here his real smile returns, “Do it. I won’t mind. You know that.”  
And Hale does know. He knew five years ago, and he knows it now.

But before he can respond, he crumples, staggering against the bed as a wave of pain shoots through his fangs. Finn notices, unfortunately, and reacts lightning fast. He takes his hand, smiling. “Hale. You can drink from me.”  
Hale shakes his head. “I’m not gonna fucking bite you, Finn.”  
“Alright, but you can’t just suffer now, can you. And I don’t know where you guys keep the blood.”   
Hale thinks he’s gonna pass out if Finn keeps talking about blood casually. “Hale. Hale. Please. Pleaaaaase.”  
Hale looks him dead in the eye, and he’s exhausted; he’s tired of fighting, tired of being lonely, tired of the pain. He scowls, but concedes, nodding. “Fucking hell Finn. Are you into this or something,” he deadpans, pulling Finn to him. He flushes bright pink, shaking his head in denial. “Can’t a guy help out his vampire boyfriend without it being a whole thing,” he complains, letting himself be tugged. 

“This, uh, might hurt a little bit,” Hale adds, shrugging off Finn’s suit jacket.   
“C’mon, Hale, it’s okay,” he replies, tilting his head slightly. Hale awkwardly leans down and, with a final look at Finn for confirmation, pierces the skin near the junction of Finn’s jaw and neck. He tastes as good as he smells, almost therapeutic in a way. Hale’s transported back to his first time visiting Finn’s house, running his fingers over the petals of the wildflowers Finn had displayed proudly in a vase in his living room. _Nice_ _flowers_ , Hale had said. _They reminded me of_ _you_ , Finn had replied. Oh, blissful irony. When Finn begins to slump against Hale’s hand, he pulls away, tugging him gently to sit on Hale’s bed. 

“Um. Thank you,” he says, eyes never leaving their interlocked hands. Finn definitely won’t let him go now. “You didn’t tell me to leave,” he murmurs, and Hale is shattered at the emotion in Finn’s eyes; he can read it like the pages of a book, each one under a different title: love, exhaustion, melancholia, hope.   
“I didn’t,” he mutters, and Finn looks at him, properly now, so intense Hale thinks he might be able to read his soul. “I don’t want to. I don’t wanna pretend anymore. I’m sorry. I can’t go back to being dead.”  
Finn glowers for a second, but he takes his free hand and places it on Hale’s cheek, gentle as a feather. “Good. No one wants you to. And you’re not gonna watch me die, okay? We’ll figure it out. And we have time.” He drops his hand and nudges his arm. “Stop shouldering everything alone, you big idiot.”   
Hale doesn’t respond, but he slumps onto the bed, pulling Finn with him. When Finn turns, he leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, and actually manages not to blush, maintaining eye contact. “I hope your new dog is even fluffier than Cinnabar,” he murmurs, and Finn bursts out laughing, kissing him softly on the mouth.   
“Happy birthday, Hale,” he says.  
“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here,” says Hale.   
“Me too,” Finn smiles, and miraculously, the two of them fall asleep happy and hopeful, dreaming of nothing but each other. Oh, how one sleeps when returned home. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> first complete fanfic!! cheers


End file.
